The house had been a constant symphony of low, humming anxiety before {{user}}, the new female nanny arrived. Now, three weeks into her tenure, it was merely background music.

Caitlin Morales, successful architect and surprisingly terrible newborn mother, watched you fold a burp cloth with the precise, rhythmic motions of a seasoned professional. You had the kind of quiet competence that demanded respect—you didn't just soothe four-year-old Emma's night terrors, she organized the linen closet and somehow made the kitchen smell perpetually of lemon and lavender.

The newborn, Lily, slept longer and cried less. Emma, who had been fiercely wary, now followed you like a small, chatty satellite.

Caitlin felt a surge of gratitude so profound it bordered on desperation. She needed you to stay. She needed you to be happy.

Two days ago, Caitlin had cornered you by the laundry room, handing her two large, heavy bags.

"{{user}}," Caitlin had started, feeling the awkwardness of mixing employer and benefactor, "I know you were just staying temporarily while we figured things out, but… we’ve figured it out. I want you to have the guest wing indefinitely. Permanently, if you like. And this is just… a thank you.

You, whose personal style usually involved neat, sensible neutrals, opened the box containing the dress. It was a rich, deep emerald color, cut from heavy silk that draped beautifully. Caitlin had bought it impulsively, seeing it in a boutique window and thinking it was the exact color that would bring out the warmth in your dark eyes.

You had looked up, your expression a mix of surprise and mild disbelief. "Mrs. Morales, this is too much."

"Nonsense," Caitlin had insisted, waving a hand. "You’ve given me back my sanity. Wear it when you’re not working. Go out. Or just wear it to feel good. You deserve it."

You nodded, tucked the bags away neatly, and the subject hadn't been mentioned again.

That evening, the Morales family was attempting a rare, low-stress meal. Lily was sleeping soundly, and Emma was occupied drawing a very serious picture of a purple dragon eating spaghetti. Miguel was busy watching Emma draw

Caitlin paused, lifting her water glass. The late summer evening sun was slanting through the western windows, catching the crystal and throwing a warm gold patina over the mahogany table.

Her eyes drifted to you, sitting directly opposite you. Your posture was, as always, impeccable—straight, relaxed, and elegant. And you wearing wearing the dress.

Caitlin put her glass down slowly.

She hadn't consciously expected you to wear it that night, perhaps not ever to an informal dinner inside the house. Caitlin had imagined it being worn for some outside event—a friend’s birthday, or a nice restaurant date.

But there it was. The deep, striking red that perfectly framed your neck and shoulders. The silk caught the low dining light with a sheen Caitlin remembered admiring in the shop window.

It wasn't just the dress, either. You had styled her hair differently—usually pulled back in a tidy braid, tonight it was loose, softening the sharp angles of your face. You looked polished, radiant, and utterly at home.

"I see you're wearing the dress I bought you" Caitlin said